


This Is Stupid

by warmsierramist



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: M/M, general shit that comes with bbkaz, uhh idk, warning: het sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 05:55:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6226531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/warmsierramist/pseuds/warmsierramist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>idk man this is something i started when i was drunk and i felt like posting. i have no idea how long it will be??? im not sure what will happen but....lets find out Together.....</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Is Stupid

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

Jesus _Fucking_ Christ, did you have to do absolutely everything around here? Groaning like an old man, you drag yourself out of your chair to put whatever empty vessel there was left under _yet another_ leak in this shithole of a shack. Already pretty much every pot and pan to spare was scattered around your feet like rose petals, the deluge outside making a veritable cacophony. The company had been here on the coast of Barranquilla about 3 months, a record by your count, and yet still you were barely settled in. Actually it was one of the nicer bases the MSF had set up, beach front property, close enough to civilization that on the rare chance they were on leave the men could blow off some steam, you and Snake even had an “office”. Certainly not the nicest base you had been in, not even second nicest, but what can you say. Building something yourself made even the leaks endearing. That’s the word you’re looking for. _Endearing_. Yep. About as endearing as a foot in your ass. You sink back into your chair and cup your hands over your mouth and nose, pressing your palms together like you were in prayer. You breathe in for 5 seconds and then let out an audible exhale. _1, 2, 3, 4, 5 ,6 ,7_. Some day you were gonna quit this nightmare.

Your job was stressful. Extremely stressful. Working 14 hours a day, most of those on your feet, and you could forget about overtime you were lucky if you got paid _at all_. On top of that, you had your subordinates to take care of. Forget starving, people in your company were actually getting fucking _killed_. Laying a guy off was one thing, having to meet his family and tell them to their face that he had been KIA?? It was impossible for anyone to be able to do the things you did, to make the decisions you made without some kind of release. Otherwise you’d….well, you don’t know what you’d do and you don’t really want to. You tap your fingers, drumming them lightly across the rough surface of your desk. Maybe that was what you needed. A little pick me up. It had been raining for a solid 7 day week, you were running on fumes trying to keep up with the staggering work load you had, plus, your boss was out right now. What’s there to lose? You give the wood a solid knock, do a quick check around the windows and doors for paranoia’s sake, and pull a vial of cocaine out of your breast pocket. You weren’t one for habits but lately, well. What could you say. _Chin-chin_. The first time you heard someone cheers that way was during your college years in Harvard. You had fucking _lost_ it. America was a strange place, or a strange time in your life. A rapid succession of extreme highs and devastating lows that had left you feeling hollow and clear, like an empty glass. That soon turned into bitter apathy punctuated by bursts of volatile aggression, which had served you well as a mercenary. Now it only amplified your misery. You tap a bump out on the back of your hand with practiced ease. Your shaking a little bit, it wasn’t too often you got time to yourself. Away from Snake. Or Big Boss, as most of the men took to calling your enigmatic kidnapper/employer. You recall waking up in a field hospital, half delirious with pain after he almost decapitated you on the battlefield.

_“What do I call you?”_

_“….call me ‘Boss’. Hahahaha. The name’s Snake.”_

You still heard that laugh, mocking, sharp, like a knife cutting you. You could care less about the physical injuries you’d sustained from him, of which you’d had plenty, _by the way_ , it was the wounds he made to your pride that still bled, that kept you lying awake at night fantasizing about violence in a way you hadn’t thought yourself capable of. It almost was enough to make you sick, that he could make you feel that way. You lean forward and take the hit, then lean back and massage your nasal passages, taking a few deep breaths. Shit. The skin on the back of your hand tingled.

After reading over _‘This agreement made and entered by and between_ **A & P LTD.** _herein referred to as the_ **CLIENT** , _and_ **MILITAIRES SANS FRONTIÈRES** _, herein referred to as the_ **AGENCY** _, WHEREAS the_ **CLIENT** _is desirous of engaging the services of the_ **AGENCY** _for the purpose of safeguarding and protecting it’s building premises, equipment, and properties; WHEREAS the_ **AGENCY** _has trained security guards, equipment and expertise to provide such services strictly in accordance with the requirements of the_ **CLIENT** ; NOW THEREFORE, _for and in consideration of the foregoing premises and mutual terms, conditions, and stipulations herein set forth, the parties have agreed and do hereby agree as follows;’_ for the 100th time you have to admit defeat. You’re not getting any work done. With a grandiose sweep, you shove the papers away and let your head drop to the desk, possibly getting a splinter in the process. You feel a little bad, honestly, shirking your duties like this. Despite all the rough treatment, you could tell Snake was making an effort to make you feel comfortable, to a _degree._ He never said anything to you about it, but he extended peace offerings to you here and there. Scraps, really. He’d let you win an occasional sparring session, pick which channel the radio was on, just little, worthless things like that. Recall random facts about you, like the way you like your coffee, or your favorite color. Yellow. Trust you to be in charge when he was gone. You loosen your ascot, sweat starting to bead up on your upper lip. God, you’re already feeling it. Already, your life seemed a little more distant, more palatable from a different angle. Maybe you hadn’t chosen it, but you had a pretty nice job. Maybe your company was small now, but it was starting to grow. Your mind strays to the new recruits, several of whom were female. They had just joined last week, and over the course of that time you’d managed to “get to know” all of them. You wonder how that cute brunette ,Terrier was doing. Maybe you should check up on her. Snake didn’t let you off base due to your tendency to make a run for it any time the opportunity arose, but you knew it was more of a dominance thing than fear you would _really_ leave. It’s not like he didn’t catch you every time. You’d given up on trying to escape a few months ago, this was the best job option you had available and you didn’t exactly have a whole lot of places to run to. Now what you were doing was testing your boundaries for getting away with shit. You didn’t have a lot of wiggle room according to your bruised ribs, but despite your relatively short leash, you did your best to raise hell whenever you could. Bite the hand that feeds you and all that. Still, you try to be a little discreet with your misbehaving. You might need that hand one day.

With a little bounce in your step, you get out of your creaky chair and give yourself a quick once-over in a hand mirror you kept hanging next to the door, for _just_ such occasions. Your pupils were blown wide making your eyes look dark, but that was easily hidden behind your sunglasses. You comb your fingers through your dirty hair, run a razor over your jaw pretending there was any stubble on your embarrassingly smooth cheeks, and voila! _Who wouldn’t have no-strings-attached sex with that guy??_ Like really, you would have sex with yourself if you could. In fact, you wish it was possible. You had a pretty healthy sexual appetite, but you quickly got bored when you sampled the same dish too many times, so to speak. It didn’t matter how hot or ugly the chick was, once you’d fucked, your feelings about your paramours were always the same. Or more correctly your sudden loss of feelings about them, replaced with a sense of emptiness, numbness, the recurring thought that you were destined to die alone. It didn’t bother you too much, you didn’t really plan on ever settling down and doing the whole white-picket-fence-with-a-dog-and-a-yard thing anyway. You never really understood that metaphor, you think something was lost in translation. Either way, you didn’t mind the concept. Of dying, that is. Don’t we all die alone, in an existential sense? And having a family, raising kids…..that was just stuff people like you didn't do. Don’t do. You were more likely to kill a kid than raise one, if you’re being a little too honest with yourself. Or end up getting killed and leave the brat a fatherless vagabond like you. Hypothetical parenting was a terrible train of thought to get lost on right before getting laid. You give yourself a final preening, open the door with a confident slam, and head towards the barracks, returning the few salutes you get from patrolling soldiers along the way.

The walk is mostly quiet, it’s evening now and things were winding down. Soldiers were congregating in groups, talking about the days events, walking together to strategically placed makeshift stations. Easy to build, easy to take apart at a moments notice. Your position as Deputy Commander made you both too busy to mingle with the troops and somewhat intimidating for them to talk to freely, but it didn’t bother you. You weren’t lonely. You wouldn’t say you were lonely. You were a bit of a loner, sure, but it wasn’t because you were anti-social or anything, you just liked to stay focused on yourself. It’s hard to keep your own interests at the top of your priorities when other people were trying to get you to care about theirs. You didn’t think that was selfish, everybody is ultimately looking out for themselves. Only a fool would sacrifice themselves for the “bigger picture” and expect to get anything out of it. “Loyalty” and “devotion” were pretty words on paper, but you’d rather be the cockroach that survives the apocalypse than the hero who throws their life away trying to stop it. Not like there’s an apocalypse happening right now or anything, you just believe in living each day as though it could be your last. Especially since it very well could be. That’s how you all were, living on borrowed time, stealing whatever bits of happiness you could in a mostly depressing stream of constant carnage and misery. You’d learned from an early age, death was common, cheap, and had very little meaning. Pretending there was a cause worth dying for had to be the biggest illusion ever created, but damned if you weren’t here now, selling your heart out in hopes of convincing these guys that the cause to lay down their lives for was yours. And by yours you mean Big Boss’s. Your _collective_ cause. It was one and the same thing even if he was the face of it, you were still the driving force behind it, steering Snake in the direction you _both_ wanted things to go. Without your guidance, he was like a bulldozer indiscriminately destroying everything in his path. You helped him keep a little perspective, remember why you’d abandoned your respective homelands and thrown away everything to face the unknown. That’s why you should be back at your desk working, instead of standing here in the entrance to the barracks mentally mapping out the most discreet route to Terrier’s door. Well fuck it, you’re already here, too late to turn back now. Future goals could come later, satisfying your physical needs could come now.

You reach Terrier’s door without getting spotted by too many soldiers and knock without hesitation, putting a little melody into it. _shave-and-a-haircut._ The female soldiers weren’t totally separated from the males, but they were given a bit more privacy in terms of living quarters, _thanks to your efforts._ Snake wanted to treat male and female soldiers exactly the same, which you managed to explain in a way comprehensible to him, _was a terrible fucking idea_. As much faith as he had in the men, a lot of these guys weren’t exactly visions of holy purity and moral righteousness. In fact, most of them were former mercs like you, doing other peoples dirty work for blood money. It’s not that you didn’t think the female soldiers couldn’t defend themselves if they had to, but why put them through the unnecessary stress? You knew how hard it was to be a woman on a military base, practically a testament to the horror stories. So far in your time with MSF at least, you hadn’t had to deal with anything of that nature. The men followed Snake’s orders without question, without thinking. You wonder sometimes if there was anything he could ask them that they wouldn’t do, if there was a line that existed for him to cross. He commanded almost a religious level of worship, a bloody messiah to soldiers everywhere preaching the good word of the cleansing power of the battlefield and the camaraderie you all had as soldiers, no enemies or allies. You’d like to call it bullshit, but some part of you bought it. You could have made money doing anything, but something about the animalistic nature of fighting, the thrill of survival, it spoke to you on a deeper level. It was intoxicating, maybe even more than that. Sometimes holding a gun felt better than sex, drugs or anything else. Most of the time you tried not to dwell on the implications of that.

Terrier finally answers the door, her hair slightly damp. Training had ended a couple of hours ago, she’d probably just gotten back from the showers. You crack an easy grin, all smooth lips and perfectly straight, white teeth.

“Hey good-lookin’. How’s it going?”

She smiles a little coyly at you, brushing her slim fingers through her bangs. She kept her hair short but it suited her sharp features, brought out the doe shape to her eyes. You’d gotten to third base with her last Monday while she was on duty doing inventory behind the cargo containers, and you felt like tonight you were going to get lucky.

“Hi there, _Commander._ Boss got you workin’ late tonight?”

The last topics you wanted to discuss were the pile of confidential paperwork on your desk or Snake’s imminent disapproval at your inability to complete said paperwork so you decide to answer by pushing into the room and pulling her into a kiss, kicking the door shut behind you. She seems flattered by your aggressive approach and laughs against your lips, but she pushes you back to get a look at your face after a minute. Your glasses slip down your nose a little. Wow, you are _way_ sweatier than you remembered.

“What’s gotten into you…Are you _high_ right now??”

Uh oh. This was not part of your plan.You examine the situation carefully. Telling Terrier you were sober right now would be dishonest, and probably unethical. However, telling her the truth might lead to unfortunate consequences for you later, such as her telling Snake you got fucked up during work hours, which was really unfair since you _wouldn’t_ if you only had non-work hours to get fucked up during. Plus, she might not be happy about your current state of sobriety and not want to have sex with you. In the end, your silence answers her for you and she fortunately takes it with humor, almost doubling over in your arms laughing. She had a very honest laugh, the kind that made you happy just hearing it.

“Err, hehe, you wanna bump?”

She shakes her head and pulls you down to make out again, backing you onto her cot. The night was making a greatly appreciated turn around, her tight ass grinding against your crotch as she leans back to take her shirt off. You oggle her chest for a second, her nipples were a little cock-eyed but it’s not like you were going to be picky about the breasts being shoved in your face. You cup both of them in your hands while she leans back down to kiss you again, this time languid and slow. Your lips are numb. She starts fiddling with your pistol belt and you help her undo it, tossing it to the side, quickly followed by your shirt, ascot, and more gently your aviators. You roll so you’re on top, sliding down to trace her nipples with your tongue, listen to her moan as you rub her clit through the fabric of her fatigues. You actually were a strong advocator for foreplay, despite your hit it then quit it reputation. What can you say, you’re a people pleaser, you like being praised for a job well done. You wish sometimes Snake would tell you you were doing a good job, even right now when you were doing the opposite.You work your hand down the front of her pants, comb through the coarse hair between her legs, already trying to think through the inevitable scenario awaiting you. Snake was due to return from the field by 0400, and according to this quick glance your stealing at your watch it was 2300 hours, giving you like, at the most three hours before you’d have to start prepping for his return. If you speed this up, you could probably finish dotting a few i’s and maybe compose a new mission list for Snake, but in the event he arrived early you were pretty much screwed, so maybe you should call the chopper really discreetly and ask the pilot to buy you some time, but that might be bad- Terrier taps your shoulder and you flinch, startled. How long have you been absentmindedly sucking her tits with your hand down her pants? You really did work too much, _Jesus Christ_. Your just hoping she doesn’t think you have a breast feeding fetish, but she whispers that she's ready, giving you a final kiss on the cheek before undoing your belt. _Finally_ , you could clear your mind and stop worrying about Snake’s imminent arrival, and the increasingly troubling direction MSF was going, and it’s imminent fade into obscurity right around the corner, and the crushing feeling of failure in your chest, and the miserable direction your whole life was going, had been on already for years, and _wow,_ you really didn’t feel like having sex anymore all of a sudden. Terrier senses your change in mood and pulls away, looking concerned. She really was way too nice to be military.

“What’s wrong?”

“….I’m just kind of coming down now, I guess.”

You can’t really talk about your feelings with her, plus it wasn’t a lie. You really were coming down, you can feel it. You want to do another hit, you don’t feel invincible anymore. She moves to lay down next to you, and you flop on to your back with a sigh, putting your arms behind your head. You didn’t realize how tired you were. Or you guess you did, that’s why you started doing more cocaine, to help you work longer. Now you hadn’t even managed to get your work done and you were probably gonna pass out in a girls bed for the first time without getting laid. She rubs your chest soothingly. She’s way too nice for _you,_ forget military.

“….Boss really does have you working hard lately, huh? I’m bone tired all the time, and I don’t do half as much as you. He really trusts you.”

You hold your breath and prepare yourself for what you know she’s gonna ask next. _What’s he like?? Are the stories true?? What do you two talk about all night??_ Inevitably, all your hookups ended up being about him. Surprisingly, it didn’t really bother you. How could you blame them, he spent so little time with the troops and when he _was_ back at base, he was on you like a hawk asking about how things were holding up here, how all the soldiers were doing, what contracts had come in. It’s only natural they would turn to you, his confidante, his right hand man. You just were never really certain what to say when asked about him. There were….things about Snake it was better that the men not know. A lot of things. It was fine talking to him about business during the day, but at night he would become quiet. Moody. Extremely withdrawn. He suffered from some kind of insomnia, and many nights you’d stay up with him keeping him company, trying to distract him from whatever nightmares plagued him. You felt sorry for the guy when he got like that, you really did. Offering him comfort, temporary relief, these were a part of your duties too. You’d talk to him, at first just about general conversation topics like global trends or politics, but eventually the stories would get more personal in nature. Old traumas, your hopes for the future, shit you’d never usually talk about with anybody. More like shit nobody but Snake would listen to. Really, it was all too embarrassing to talk to anyone about. Like this apocalypse nightmare you used to have.

_"After my mom got sick, I started having this dream. It’d start out totally normal, I’d be walking home from school, or working at the shop, or even in the middle of fucking some girl I liked and didn’t have the guts to actually talk to, and then- BAM! The bomb would drop and the whole world would go up in flames. I’d wake up every night biting my tongue to keep from screaming. Spit blood up in the bathroom sink before brushing my teeth. After she died I stopped having it, but for years it was the same dream every night. It was…..I don’t know. Strange."_

You weren’t sure how much he actually cared. He’d never say anything about your nightly therapy sessions, but his gaze would come into focus a little more in these moments. He’d look at you sometimes during long stretches of silence and it was like he was really looking at you, not just registering your presence. It frightened you a little, if you were being honest. That’s why you kept up the constant chatter, barely coherent by 0300 on your fifth pot of coffee, but it was better than listening to you heart beat in your ears, feeling his gaze raise goosebumps on your flesh.

“Yea, I guess he does.”

“You sound kind of…..I don’t know.”

“What?”

“Oh, I don’t know. He’s pretty intimidating, huh?”

_Intimidating_. That was putting it lightly. He made you train one-on-one with him at least once a week, in the beginning even more than that. You had a permanent scar on your hip bone from him kicking you once when you were already down. He said it was because you were the one organizing the training regimen, he needed to make sure your skills were good enough for the men, and sure, that was one thing, but really you were pretty sure he was full of shit and was just taking his frustration out on you. You could tell when he was mad because he wouldn’t be giving you any kind of instruction or correcting your stance or anything, just silently stalking you, his whole body tense. You could almost predict when he was going to be like that, call it psychic powers or stoners ESP, but you had a feeling he was going to be in a bad mood tonight when he got back from the mission. You’d been feeling it all day, in the back of your head, like you’d left something on the back-burner too long. You glance down at your watch. 0000. Midnight exactly, down to the second.

“I should get back to work.”

You get up and put your clothes back on while Terrier watches. Her big eyes are like black holes in the dark.

“Ok….you know if you ever just want to talk, you can always talk to me.”

“What??”

“You just seem a little….lonely. I mean, isn’t that why you came here?”

“I came to….”

To be distracted. You were trying not to be obsessive. It’s not good to only think about one ~~person~~ thing.

“I, uh, I think you’re misunderstanding. This is just….purely physical. For me, I mean.”

That hurt her feelings. Normally you never operated with such little tact, but you just don’t have the energy to lie to her. You’re exhausted. Laying down on her cot for half an hour felt more like laying down for a thousand years, like you had been laying there forever and would never get up. You probably wouldn’t see her again, not like this anyway. Chalk this one up as a miss. She doesn’t say anything when you leave. You don’t look back to see her expression.

**Author's Note:**

> so yea thats that??? next chapter will have medic/venom snek and more Dramatic Irony..


End file.
